


Painting Lines on the Cliff's Edge

by tuesdayfic (tuesday)



Category: Psych
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-08-07
Updated: 2008-08-07
Packaged: 2017-10-04 00:01:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,250
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23772
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tuesday/pseuds/tuesdayfic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Shawn seems to be on a mission to send one of them to an early grave.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Painting Lines on the Cliff's Edge

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to aiwritingfic for the beta. Started for Porn Battle, but what with my sister's wedding going on at the same time, it was finished somewhat after.

Lamaze breathing wasn't doing it for Gus anymore. Shawn seemed to be on a mission lately to drive Gus's blood pressure to unprecedented heights, and it was growing more tempting by the day to use some of his samples for more personal reasons. Gus just couldn't decide whether he wanted to sedate himself or Shawn.

"Don't be a raging rhinoceros, Gus. I solved the case, didn't I?"

"You wrecked my car!"

"It was only a little ding, and you have insurance."

"That's not the point, Shawn!" Gus stopped and took several more deep breaths.

He'd come to his apartment to cool off, and Shawn hadn't listened at all despite Gus having shut the door in his face. Gus had changed the security code days ago after the pineapple-coffee incident, so he thought he was safe (except this was Shawn and he was never anything approaching safe). Shawn had let himself right in, saying, "My birthday? This is sad, dude. Sad. If you want people to come barging in and take all your worldly possessions, then why do you even have a security system?" And despite Gus kindly not killing him right that instant, he'd gone on about the car again.

"Okay, so it was parked close enough that it nearly caught on fire, too, but the firefighters totally got there in time."

"What part of 'I do not want to see you' do you not understand?" Gus gritted out as he forced his fists to his sides, hands shaking from conflicting impulses. If I don't touch him I can't live the cliche, Gus told himself. No killing or—

"Dude, are you okay?" Shawn asked, taking a step forward and forcing Gus to take a step back lest Shawn come within choking range.

"No, I am not okay. I am either going to have an apoplectic fit or kill you and go to jail for manslaughter."

"Come on, Gus," Shawn said, raising a hand to the scrape on Gus's cheek—and thinking about how that happened was only decreasing Shawn's probability for survival. Gus reminded himself that worse had happened that day Shawn had decided roof surfing was the new car surfing. It really didn't help. Unexpectedly, Shawn's fingers skimmed along Gus's chin and jawline, slid down to rest gently on Gus's neck.

"Breathe," Shawn said with that quirky little grin that was irritating in how endearing it was.

"You've been riding the line lately," Gus said, and it was difficult to sound properly frustrated when Shawn kept smoothing his fingertips along the patch of skin under Gus's ear, like Shawn was trying to calm a horse—or maybe remind Gus he had the advantageous position if one of them tried for strangulation.

"What can I say, I like to live on the edge."

"If you keep it up, you won't be living at all," Gus said gruffly and tried not to notice how Shawn smelled faintly still of his pineapple shampoo, but mostly of antiseptic and smoke. Shawn had somehow inched closer yet. "If you try that close talking trick on me, I will punch you in your bad arm."

"I don't know what you're talking about, and both my arms are awesome." Shawn was still smiling, and Gus wondered if he took a step back if Shawn might not follow him right up against the wall.

"One of them is wrapped in bandages—don't think I missed that! And what is now technically yesterday, I bonded with Jules over lattes and missing partners, and she revealed her experiences with some of your stupid-ass stunts. Not to mention, you tried the same thing on Maggie Smith in tenth grade, except she kneed you in the groin."

Shawn winced a little at the memory and said, "Let us never speak of that again."

"Afraid I'll get inspiration?"

"Exactly," said Shawn, "except I'm not going for close talking."

Shawn's lips were soft and dry, closed against Gus's in a chaste kiss. Gus knew he should move back, break away, because there was no way this could end well. They knew each other too well, were too different. Gus wanted to live to enjoy his retirement, and Shawn was going to get himself killed in an explosion in a case for the police or, or jumping off the roof because it seemed like a good idea at the time. Shawn was going to die in a stupid, ignominious manner one of these days, and—

Gus pushed his hands in Shawn's hair, pulled him closer. He opened his mouth and licked Shawn's lips, tasting salt and ash, pressed his tongue in Shawn's mouth. Shawn crowded up against him, hands headed directly for the buttons of Gus's shirt. Gus stopped him gently and made Shawn slow down, lips and tongues moving languorously against one another, hands clasped loosely together.

They made out standing up for a long, stretched moment, during which Gus didn't think about Shawn's bandages and how he was now favoring his left wrist, or the way he had taken off after a lead and left both Gus and his cell phone behind, or—Gus didn't think about these things, only the soft slide of their mouths and Shawn's hands warm and unsteady under his own.

Finally, Shawn pulled away and said, voice full of an unrepentant hope, "I don't suppose we could move somewhere more comfortable?"

"Yes, you're allowed in my bedroom again, but you're taking your shoes off first."

"I don't see why you banned me in the first place. I mean, it's not like it was a large water balloon, and how was I supposed to know that dye was permane—"

"Don't make me change my mind."

Shawn made a key-locking motion toward his mouth and then he toed off his sneakers, kicked them to the side of the hall, and bounded toward the bedroom. "Hey, you have new pillows!"

Gus sighed and knew that was the best he was going to get for good behavior. He could put the sneakers in the shoe rack by the door later—for now, he rushed to follow Shawn. The man couldn't be trusted alone in a padded room, much less Gus's inner sanctum. Besides, there were sharp things like hangers in there, and Shawn was bound to hurt himself unsupervised.

Shawn was already sprawled across the bedspread, struggling one-armed with his shirt.

"Maybe this isn't a good idea," Gus said, watching Shawn flop around like a stranded dolphin.

"Don't judge by the striptease. I'm operating at a handicap right now." Shawn waved his hand where it was stuck in the neck-hole.

"That's what I meant," Gus said, crossing to the bed and helping Shawn pull the shirt off.

"The hospital totally cleared me and everything." Shawn grinned and tossed the shirt to the side. He had another bandage across his shoulder, and bruises littered his torso.

"For rigorous physical activity?" Gus asked doubtfully, tracing the edges of a particularly dark bruise.

"They didn't specifically say no sex, and that's good enough for me." Shawn tugged at Gus's belt, then threw it down with the shirt. Gus resigned himself to possibly permanent wrinkles, because he knew where the rest of his clothes were going to end up and the likelihood of Shawn letting him out of bed before late morning was low to nonexistent. Shawn seemed to sense Gus's acquiescence—he didn't even bother with the buttons, just tugged the shirttails out of Gus's pants and pushed it up.

Gus took over so he didn't end up in the same tangled mess Shawn had been in, and they ended up in a small scuffle over whether Gus could at least fold the shirt. Gus stopped fighting when he accidentally bumped Shawn's left arm and Shawn played up the injury, whimpering in a pathetic way that had Gus letting the shirt fall to the floor and hunched over Shawn with concern. In a clear show of just how hurt he was, Shawn went for Gus's zipper, all shameless smiles again.

"Shawn," Gus huffed out, exasperated, but didn't stop him.

When they were both finally naked—after a few prolonged distractions as they tussled over Gus's slacks and stopped to just kiss several times—Gus stopped and said, "Okay, we really need to decide on logistics."

"How can you even say words like that right now?" Shawn protested and tried to pull Gus down again. "Stop thinking so much and just, do."

"I don't want to hurt you, Shawn."

"I'm not a girl. You don't have to give me the whole speech and code of honor thing. I know you'll respect me in the morning."

"As much as I ever do," Gus muttered, then said, "I meant you're covered in bruises."

"Maybe I like pain." Shawn waggled his eyebrows, and Gus decided that if anyone was a masochist in this relationship, it was clearly _Gus_.

He poked one of Shawn's bruises.

"Ow! Dude, what was that for?"

Gus just looked at him.

"Okay, point taken."

"Thank you."

"Do you know what this means?" Shawn asked, excited again. "I totally get to be on top."

"And how exactly are you going to manage with only one good arm?"

"Uh. I can top from the bottom!" Gus poked one of Shawn's bruises again. Shawn glared. "And what's your genius plan?"

Gus smirked and pushed Shawn gently back into the pillows.

"Oh," Shawn said, eyes gratifyingly wide as Gus slid down the bed. "_Oh._" Gus had to settle for just the sound, because the angle was too awkward to look.

He let Shawn's proceeding sounds of satisfaction roll over him, reveled in the feel of Shawn's fingers skimming his scalp uncertainly and the way Shawn's body trembled against him. After a short time (and Gus really wasn't sure whether he was more embarrassed for Shawn or proud of himself), Shawn said, "Wait, I'm—" which did not count as fair warning in Gus's book.

But he was in a forgiving mood, especially when Shawn pulled him up to make out anyway and closed a warm hand around his dick to return the favor. And when Gus's toes curled, and his hands clenched, and he had to stop kissing to moan long and low against Shawn's shoulder, he was too happy to be embarrassed over how quickly he came. Besides, he'd held out a whole twenty-eight seconds over Shawn.

To Gus's surprise, Shawn was actually a cuddler. "And you thought I was joking about nuding up our sleep-overs," Shawn said, shoving Gus down into the pillows and sprawling out over him.

"You were," said Gus, palming a hand along Shawn's back.

"Only because I didn't know you'd take me up on it. You've been holding out on me!" Shawn's voice was too light to be properly accusing, and he wriggled into a better position, shifting his elbows up and his injured arm to the side. He moved a leg between Gus's. "And now, I will use you as a pillow." Shawn did so, mashing his face into Gus's chest.

"I appreciate the continued abiding respect you have for me," Gus said, shifting a little under all of Shawn's weight and bony edges.

Shawn mumbled something that sounded a lot like, "All the respect of a rabid mongoose" but it was so muffled even Gus couldn't tell, and his lips were distracting as they dragged against Gus's skin. Gus decided to let it slide.

They spent several minutes just lying there, Gus catching his breath and cataloging Shawn's injuries, trying to memorize every inch of skin laid out before him. The sporadic bruising extended to Shawn's back, and there was a thin, shallow cut across his left shoulder blade that explained part of Shawn's reasons for lying over Gus like this. Gus moved his hand to the nape of Shawn's neck and counted out breaths and heartbeats, reassured by the feel of puff after puff of warm air pushed out against him.

"Something has to change," Gus admitted in a low voice, carding a hand through Shawn's hair, spiky and sticky with sweat, oil, and what hair product remained. "I can't—I can't—" Gus swallowed and closed his eyes.

Shawn didn't say anything for a long time, and Gus wondered if Shawn had drifted off in an endorphin haze. Then, softly, "I can't change who I am, Gus."

And the thing was, Shawn was right. He couldn't promise not to jump off roofs or hare off after suspects or any of a million other stupid things he did without even thinking. Not and actually be honest or have Gus believe him—over two decades of previous experience begged to differ.

"Just . . . take me with you next time, all right?"

"Pinky swear," Shawn said and offered up his right hand, face still smashed against Gus's chest.

"Fifth grade rules—you have to honor the pinky swear, Shawn," Gus said, dislodging Shawn so he could move his hand up to seal the deal.

"I'm not the one who ran from Mrs. Robertson, breaking a time-honored pact." Shawn looked a little more indignant at having been shifted than at misremembered grievances.

"Who came back and hauled you through the bushes when you froze up?" Gus reminded him. "That would be me."

"Just because—"

Gus linked their pinkies together and pressed his lips against Shawn's. He held the kiss a few extra seconds before pulling away. "Promise."

Shawn licked his lips. "Promise." And then he pressed Gus against the pillows to make out some more.


End file.
